


Mortal Transgressions

by Cloudnine101



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asgard, Blood, Charles Getting Uncomfortable, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Erik has Issues, Friendship, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, Injury, Love, M/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 15:15:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2816822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudnine101/pseuds/Cloudnine101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Charles has never been one to believe in fairy tales. But now, staining a (quite pretty) rainbow bridge red, he has to question that.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mortal Transgressions

Charles has never been one to believe in fairy tales. But now, staining a (quite pretty) rainbow bridge red, he has to question that.

"Please! He's dying! Midgardian healers cannot save him!" Erik has an arm around Charles's waist - which, in itself, is pretty bloody magical, thank you very much - and he's speaking, words flowing from between blood red lips - and since when we're those cheeks so white? He'd kiss some colour into them, if Erik would let him - which he never would, of course. That would be preposterous. And what does Midgardian mean, anyway? He tries to ask, but all that comes out is...

"Erik..." Cool blue eyes, pupils blown in panic, turn to him. Charles offers up a weak smile, and receives an equally strained one in return.

"We can offer you no service, Son of Loki." The tone is tinged with venom - and now Erik's gone even paler, eyes dancing with suppressed fire. Charles very much wants to explode; maybe that way, he wouldn't have to see any more of Erik's pain. Maybe that way, he could share it. Maybe that way, it would all be over quicker.

"I am not my father," comes the snarl, and it's a bitter, broken one. The arm tightens around his waist - and that could be for support, or protection, or something else entirely. Honestly, Charles is far too tired to care.

"His transgressions have weakened Asgard. We can show no weakness; for the sake of our people."

·

Suddenly, it's all a little confusing. Up until this point, Charles had been coping; coping with the giant vengeful monsters, and Erik's dad sprouting horns, and Tony Stark - genius, billionaire, philanthropist, not-so-playboy - being in his house, on top of his table, making out with aforementioned dad. That had all been OK. It had even been fine when the trident - a very non-metal, uncontrollable trident- went sailing towards Erik - well, it hadn't been fine, but Charles, being Charles, had come up with a plan.

All things considered, it was very cunning. It took a lot of effort, to throw himself in front of the prongs at precisely the right moment. There had only been two problems: the rather sharp stick embedded in his chest (blood leaking round it - that wasn't very good), and the look of pure horror in his best friend's eyes.

·

"Heimdall, I beg of you-" And then the world stops making sense. It's quiet - very, very, so, too quiet - and Erik's mouth is moving, but he's not making any sound. Charles should probably tell him; but he can't talk either: a fish out of water, flopping. Somewhere, there's a flash - bright, brilliant light fills his senses. In a way, Charles is disappointed. He'd hoped that dying would be less...well...clichéd. Really? A light at the end of...the...the...huge otherworldly portal?

It'll certainly be something to tell the grandchildren about; provided, of course, he ever gets around to adopting any. Because of he's going to have grandchildren, or children, or any of that, he wants to have it with Erik. And it will never happen, because they're trapped in the friend-zone. Charles has no idea how many times he's ranted down the phone to Raven, and then cried himself to sleep. Too many. It's pretty pathetic.

"WHAT IS THIS?" The voice is too loud, too strong - it booms around, claiming all attention. For a second, Charles is gratified; but then his eardrums start to ring.

Still, at least he can hear it.

·

It reminds him, oddly enough, of the first time he met Erik: in the cheap seats (aka the pit) at a concert, tickets to which Angel had somehow managed to snap up, despite them all being sold out six months in advance. It may not have been entirely legal, but it got Charles chest to chest with an impossibly hot security guard, which was totally a plus.

"Hi! I'm Charles!" Yes, he may have been a little drunk, but not drunk enough to blank the cutie in front of him: tall, muscular, dark, and hot enough to barbecue on.

"Erik." And, apparently, foreign. German? Swiss? Did he care? This just kept getting better and better.

"Hello, Erik...I'd very much like to kiss you, if that's alright." Where had that come from? Oh well; in for a penny, in for a pound. It wasn't as though he'd ever see the man again. The brow furrowed; a (highly snoggable, if Charles did say so himself) pair of lips curved into a smile.

"You're drunk." Even his voice was steamy...how come some people got all the luck? Not that Charles was complaining.

"Yes, I suppose I am. But I can still see you, so I think I'm alright. Kiss me?" The eyes narrowed - oh, that wasn't good - but the smile remained.

"I'd rather kiss you sober." A little flutter emerged in Charles's chest; because a guy, who was so far out of his league it should be illegal, was actually willing to make out with him. True, he hadn't used those exact words; but it was close enough, wasn't it?

"Well, then, you'd better have my number."

They hadn't kissed.

In actual fact, Charles had puked all over Erik's rather nice shoes, and had been promptly man-handled into a taxi.

The next morning, with a thumping hangover and a string of digits on his arm, Charles had bought Angel a car. And a motorbike. And a speedboat. Who said being rich didn't have its perks?

·

Then, in an instant, there's another voice, chiming out, silencing everything: "Brother." And who should come striding along the bridge, decked out in green and gold (looking more than a little like a Christmas decoration), but Loki Odinson-Stark; and behind him, the Stark element of his surname, wearing a - a - suit of armour? Together, the pair approach the booming-voice-man; who, it seems, is having trouble breathing.

"This isn't happening," Charles comments - fairly reasonably, he thinks - and collapses.

·

The day Charles found out about Erik's powers, it was purely by chance. They were walking along the pavement, very calmly; Charles was telling Erik about some new scientific breakthrough. He can't remember what it was, now; but at the time, he was very excited about it. (Even Hank had been doing a victory dance in the office; which was a big step, for the shy engineer.) He was so excited, in fact, that he didn't look twice before crossing the road.

Looking back, Charles could remember everything - Erik's hoarse cry, a flash of silver, and an expanse of grey, looming up to meet him, and then-

The car bonnet. In front of him. About to hit him. And it was all going to be over, and it was the end, and all Charles could think was: 'I wonder if I left the kettle on?' and 'I never told Erik I loved him'.

That was before the metal started to crumple.

It literally folded in on itself; like bent paper, scrunching and churning, bending; fitting, almost perfectly, around his body.

It was a miraculous escape.

But, as Charles crouched on the ground, face pressed against metal, he knew it was something more. And then Erik's arms were around him, pulling him close; and neither man spoke. Charles could feel Erik's heartbeat racing through his shirt.

"Mein Gott," Erik said, pulling away (all too soon), hands remaining on the younger man's shoulders, "You could have been killed." German. Of course.

"That was no accident, Erik." The taller of the pair had frozen, eyes darting.

"What else could it have been?"

"You." And now, Charles's voice was steady. Calm. Focused.

That night, over a bottle of a particularly strong scotch, Erik told Charles he was a mutant.

What he neglected to mention, however, was the fact that he was also a demi-god. Charles didn't find that out until much, much later.

·

He's falling - falling through water, and his feet won't touch the ground.  
And then there's Erik - holding him up, even as he tumbles.

There are lights in the sky - and they could be stars, or they could be anything.

And Mr Odinson-Stark's standing there (because he cannot, will not, think of him as Loki), pointing what looks suspiciously like a spear at Mr Tall Blonde and Handsome (except not to Charles - he's always preferred brunettes).

"Charles." It's Erik's voice, vibrating in his ears, taking everything else away. "Charles, can you hear me?" He's floating, framed in light, face twisted; and even though he's covered in dirt and sand and blood, he's never looked more beautiful.

"Charles, speak to me. Come on, damn you! I can't...Charles..."

·

There's blood everywhere; on the tiles, on the swaying walls, on each stunted, staggering breath, and it's dripping, flooding away, soaking everything. In Charles's opinion, Asgard could do with a much more cheerful colour scheme. Something with peach, perhaps. Raven would know; design's always been her cup of tea. Personally, Charles prefers Earl Grey, but who's he to judge? Paint people are paint people, after all.

The world's spinning like a top; Charles is clutching at straws, at the dripping strands, at Erik. A heart hammers beneath his fingertips; but it's not his own, and it's twirling, dancing. There's so much heat, and it's all flying away-

And they're back in Westchester, and it's all going wrong-

And Erik's got his back against the counter, and he's panting, eyes black as soot-

And they're sharing a look-

We'll get through this-

And then the creatures are there, right in front of them-

And Charles's heart is spiking in his ears-

And it's lunging-

And he's yelling-

Erik!

But he's too late-

And there's so much blood, so much darkness-

And Erik's fading-

Erik! No!

But it's not right-

This didn't happen, it didn't, it didn't-

·

"Charles, what's wrong? Stay with me." They're on the lawn, side by side, as the sky turns grey; and pale white peach walls crowd, but they float back, and the words are gone and soaked. Charles turns, staring straight into Erik's eyes. The older man lies on his side, face open - far, far more happy than Charles has ever seen him.

"Nothing...just thinking."

"When we get out of here...what do you want?" Out of here: out of Westchester, out of life, out of oblivion. Out of the nightmare.

To kiss you, my friend; if you'd have me.

"I'd like to kiss you, my friend; if you'd have me." Erik grins, all white teeth.

"Of course I'd have you," he murmurs - and then their lips are locked together, and it's so warm, and it tastes of blood and fire and ash-

And Charles pulls away, gasping.

.

Charles...Charles, speak to me...please, Charles...please...

·

Numb, broken.

Can't move.

Bloody legs bloody bloody legs won't work.

Erik?

Bloody legs.

I'm right here, Charles. I'm not going anywhere.

Erik.

Gotta...call Raven. She'll...

I know. In the morning.

Right. The morning. Right.

Seems like a long time to wait.  
·

Charles...

·

"Erik! No, you can't tell Emma her cat is Satan!"

"But it is!"

"That's not the point!"

·

Toes. Too many toes.

All wiggling.

Wiggling like worms.

Wiggly, wiggly little worms.

Big ones, little ones, fat ones, thin ones-

He's conscious!

Well, of course I am, Charles thinks, somewhat outraged, what else would I be? I'm hardly about to faint at a happy ending!

Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle.

"My head feels like glue," Charles points out, before promptly starting to snore.

·

He's back in the stream of light, racing upwards, clinging to Erik for all he's worth - because he's got to keep standing, got to keep trying-

"It will take time."

"How long?"

"As long as it takes."

-and really, it's a scientific marvel.

"Erik...remind me what this is called?"

"It's the Bifrost, Charles. Now hold still."

"Truly, this is wonderful! It - is that a sword?"

"Shut up."

"OK. Shutting up...sorry about messing up your shirt."

"Right now, the shirt is the least of my worries."

·

"I fainted, didn't I?" Charles says, when he comes to. The woman, eyes wide, yells for assistance - her bronze armour gleams. She really shouldn't be wearing it indoors; it's much too bright. "Erik?"

"I'm right here, Charles."

"Thank goodness for that. You know, she needs to take that...thing, off." Charles waves his hand in the woman's general direction. Erik arches a brow.

"Oh? And why's that?"

"Too bright. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Charles."

"Mmph."

·

Everything's very green.

It's like pine needles.

Or Christmas.

·

Too green.

·

Goodnight, Erik.

·

"Stay, Erik?"

"Always."

·

Goodnight.

·

When Charles finally wakes up, Erik's waiting.

The world swims for a moment; the light blinds; but then it's normal, it's good, it's not turning. And Erik's there.

Charles grins crookedly. "Hello. Did I keep you long?" Erik makes an odd sound in his throat.

"Long enough."

For a moment, they both just sit there; perfectly silent, perfectly content. Charles finds himself blushing, all the same. Stupid, stupid-

"You called my dad a bauble." Charles's mouth forms a perfect 'o', as his eyes filled with mortification. The blush that colours his cheeks now could rival Tony Odinson-Stark's suit and-

And-

Oh God.

"Tell me I imagined all of this." Erik smiles - and for a second, Charles is back at the concert, heaving his guts up over beautifully black biker-boots. They must have cost a fortune.

"Sorry." Charles buries his face in his hands, moaning slightly.

"No, no, no, this cannot be happening."

"So it was fine when I was just a mutant, then?" Charles's head snaps up.

"Yes, of course it was! It was better than fine! It was...it was groovy! And you were a charming, normal man, with a nice house and cool parents and fantastic boots...and suddenly you're a god!"

"Demi-god," Erik points out quietly. Charles is pleased to see his eyes are downcast.

"And your parents are superheroes, and you travel by...by Bifrost, and I don't know who you are anymore!"

Erik leans forwards, eyes bright enough to burn; but Charles doesn't back down.

"I'm the same as I always was, Charles. I'm me."

"And who is that? You're going to have to fill me in, Erik; because obviously, I don't know a damn thing about you!" Erik flinches backwards; when he speaks, his voice is earnest.

"My name is Erik Odinson-Stark. I'm twenty nine years old, and I come from Germany. My parents are Anthony Stark and Loki Odinson. I love classical music, Chinese food and going to the theatre. I hate dogs, my extended family and migraines. I can manipulate metal, and I've lived with you for two years, three months, and twenty six days. You know this about me. It's true." Charles folds his arms over his chest, defiant.

"How am I supposed to know that? You could be anyone! Anyone! And we were living together, and you were my best friend, and it was all so great...and for a minute...just a minute...I...." And now his voice is breaking, and he can't find the words, and he's all choked up, and the entire world is to blame-

"What, Charles? What?" Erik's leaning in, eyes gleaming - and that's enough to bring all the anger spilling over the edge.

"I thought we had a chance! I thought we could make it work! I thought we could be together, without me ruining it, because that's all I do! I break things, and I can't fix them; but what we had...I thought it was special. I thought you were special. And now...now, it's like I don't know you at all!" Charles slumps back against the headboard, chuckling mirthlessly through gritted teeth. "I want us to have a shot, because I...I care about you, Erik. More than I care about anyone else. And I just...I trust you. I'd tell you anything-"

"You didn't tell me you loved me." Charles freezes - literally freezes, hands curling around the bedsheets, blood rushing away from his head, leaving him empty.

"What?" Erik's face is cool.

"When you were...delirious, you said...that. Did you mean it?" Each word is brusque; clipped.

At this point, Charles has two options: flat-out denial, or complete confirmation. In his mind, he runs through the potential outcomes; if he denies it, and Erik doesn't feel the same way (which he doesn't), everything will be back to normal. True, he'll never be able to pretend again - but it's the friendship that matters, isn't it?

Denial is the right choice.

But as he opens his mouth to say the words, Erik's staring at him, eyes beautifully blue, and before he knows what's going on, he's saying: "I did."

·

And there it is - the end of his painstaking tapestry of lies, spiralling down around his ears. All those times spent together, carefully covering his tracks, pretending he couldn't remember the concert - all for nothing. Raven's going to love this.

"Please...could you repeat that?" Charles rubs his hands over his eyes, body taut.

"I did, my friend...I do. I don't...do you remember when we first met?"

"Yes. But I thought-"

"I did remember," Charles cuts in, "I just...didn't want to ruin things. Besides, it's hardly a memory to be proud of, is it?"

"You threw up on my shoes," Erik says, the faintest hint of a smile in his voice, "and I had to wash them in the fountain."

"Ah. That I didn't know. But the point is, I wasn't actually very drunk. I'd only had a few."

"You don't hold your alcohol well. I know."

"The thing is, I was serious about the...the kiss." The last word comes out in a breath; Charles can barely bring himself to say it. The capital-K Kiss.

"Charles..."

"I know I'm not the greatest friend, Erik. I know I've dragged you to lectures at six in the morning. I know I've forced you to eat my horrible biscuits. I know I've ranted and raved at you at all hours of the night. But...I'd do anything for you. Really, truly. I've hardly been man of the year, Erik...but, um, if you'll have me, I'll try to do better. I'll try to be better. So...yes." Charles doesn't look up from the bedsheets. "Go out with me?"

Erik pauses. And starts to laugh.

Erik starts to laugh - and it's rich, and it's gasping, and it's going on and on and on - and really, that's all the answer Charles needs, as tears roll down Erik's cheeks. "Alright. I'll take that as a no, then. I...I suppose I should, um-" Rolling to one side, he stretches his legs, preparing to escape from the room as fast as they can carry him - because even though they hurt, they hurt a whole lot less than rejection.

The chuckles stop. "Charles, no-"

"I think you've made your choice perfectly clear, Erik." Charles holds his head high, even as his eyes swim. "I'll be out of your way in a moment-"

"And go where? This is Asgard, Charles. You're a mortal. Most likely, some imbecile will bash your head in during sword practice." And Erik's still smiling - and he shouldn't be, he has no right to be - and Charles says:

"Is that all this is to you? A joke? Some kind of game? I meant it, Erik! I meant every word! And you...you're just laughing at me! Well, excuse me for wanting to preserve an ounce of my dignity-"

"Charles, that's not what I-"

But Charles is climbing out of bed, on the side opposite to Erik, and walking towards the door - and maybe, if he doesn't look back, Erik won't come after him. Maybe he won't try to comfort him, like the good man he is. Maybe he won't say they can still be friends - because that, essentially, will be the death-blow-

And then Erik's arms are around his waist, and their bodies are pressed together, perfectly aligned.

"Erik," Charles squeaks, "what. Are. You. Doing?"

"What I should've done a long time ago," Erik says - and, slowly, moves his hands onto Charles's chest, onto the fabric of a top that isn't his own - and his lips are pressing down on Charles's neck, and he's murmuring: "Is this proof enough for you? Do you still have your dignity now?"

"I...err..."

Very, very carefully, Erik slides his fingers beneath Charles's cloth shirt, onto his skin. The touch is freezing - Charles gasps, as pins and needles spread through his body.

"I l-" Erik says - but then Charles has turned around, and locked his arms behind Erik's neck, and kissed him.

Erik, Charles notes vaguely, tastes of cranberries and smoke - and his eyes are wide, and his lips are still. It's rather pleasant, despite how it sounds - and Erik's hands are all over him, pulling him closer - and, in true rom-com fashion, every reasonable thought goes out the window.

In the background, there's the sound of slow applause. Erik and Charles break apart, Erik looking more than a little dazed, to see Tony Odinson-Stark and Loki. "Took you a while," Tony comments, "but we both knew it was coming. Right, Lokes?"

"Indeed," Loki replies, breathing the word. And then, almost conversationally, he says to Charles: "Hurt him, and I will end you. If he didn't love you so much, I might be tempted to throw you off the Bifrost myself."

Charles nods. "Thanks. I think."

"Shut up," Erik grunts, and kisses him again.

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews make my year!


End file.
